Page 8 of His Son's Ex

“I think you’ve been holding yourself together for so long, you’ve forgotten how to let go. I think…”

He lifts his hand, brushing a curl from my cheek.

“You want someone who won’t apologize for wanting you back.”

Game. Over.

I don’t move. Don’t speak.

My entire body goes still—except for the part of me screaming for more.

What am I supposed to say?

Hi, ruin me please?

Because for the first time in months, I don’t want control.

I want him.

“You talk like you’ve already won me,” I say, lifting my chin.

His eyes flare—just slightly.

Surprised. Like I cracked through something most people don’t even get close to.

Like no one talks to him that way.

“I don’t even know your name,” I murmur.

His answer is a slow, easy lie wrapped in truth.

“You don’t need to.”

Ominous. Infuriating. And unnecessarily hot.

“We should go. My friend’s probably wondering if I’ve been murdered or married by now.”

He smirks, just slightly. “She’s smart.”

I nod. Nothing more.

Because I don’t trust myself to say anything sensible.

Knowing me, I’ll ask him to take me somewhere dark?—

and wreck me on purpose.

But I’m not ready for that. Not yet.

We walk out together.

Not touching. Not speaking.

But everything about him is heat—right there beside me. Impossible to ignore.

The space between us crackles, electric. Like the air just before a storm.

And all I can think is:

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